Entwined
It was a wise machine that wound
this ball of string as tight as season rings
somewhere it started and somewhere it will end
the whirl of things not right nor wrong - just reasoning
yet ’somewhere it begins’ feels like pretence -
footsteps wandering round and circling lost
halls of uncrowned kings and no choirs sing -
again not right nor wrong - just reasoning.
Words; the thrum of strands within threads
tight-wrapped filaments beyond permanence
time is now to untangle their intent
entwined within the twisted firmament.